In the Early Morning Hours
by Ythaeca
Summary: Harry encounters an intruder in the early hours of the morning in Grimmauld Place, and finds himself trying to repair some of the damage done by the war.


A/N: For your information, and to avoid confusion, you should know that this oneshot is set in a timeframe outside of Canon in which the war was not quickly won and the Order, along with Harry, are still fighting. Harry is aproximately nineteen years old in this fic, and Ginny around eighteen.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related things are the property of J.K. Rowling and are certainly not mine.

In the Early Morning Hours

He wasn't initially sure what had awoken him. His dream had ended with a loud crashing noise, but in his still discombobulated state of half wakefulness Harry was having trouble discerning whether the crash had been real or imagined. For a minute he simply rested, unmoving on his bed, listening attentively for any indication of movement in the empty hallways of Grimmauld Place. His hand, which had immediately shot out to grab the wand on his bedside table, tightened almost imperceptibly as his mind raced with the possibilities that come so readily in the dark of early morning hours. Harry's body tensed as he considered the possibility that the Death Eaters had finally managed to locate and break into the Order Headquarters. He simultaneously reassured himself that it was far more likely that if anyone was inside Grimmauld Place beside himself, it would be another Order member. But why would they come at such an hour? Harry instinctively knew that it was still the middle of the night, meaning that if an Order member had come here looking for him, it was likely that they were bearers of bad news. Had there been an attack? Was an attack coming? Had someone been hurt?

Just as Harry was beginning to reassure himself that there were no intruders, and the crash that had awoken him was no more than a dream, he heard soft footsteps and the tinkling of disturbed broken glass from downstairs. Now, armed with the certainty that there _was_ someone else in the house, Harry swung his legs out of bed and padded as quietly as possible to the door of his bedroom, wand in hand. He eased open the door, listening more attentively than ever, and groaned inwardly as he realized that it would be nearly impossible to make it down the stairs without the floorboards creaking under his weight.

He contemplated how to get around the creaky floorboards before mentally facepalming himself. _Well, Harry, are you a wizard or what? _Pointing his wand at the stairwell as he slipped out of his room, Harry silently cast _silenco_ on the floorboards and crept down the stairs towards the light in the kitchen. Not for the first time he wished that he wasn't alone in Grimmauld Place. If only Ron and Hermione were here with him. It would be nice to have the backup, for moments like these. Although, if Harry was being honest with himself, it would just be nice to have the company. He'd been holed up alone in the drafty old mansion for over a week now, and the quiet was starting to get to him. Hermione had left two weeks ago to work with the Weasley twins on some new spells and weapons for the war effort, trying to get an advantage over the uninventive yet numerous death eaters who had been gradually winning more and more battles as time went on. Which was also why Ron left just a few days later to plan strategy with a small group of trustworthy aurors, leaving Harry in Grimmauld Place alone researching horcruxes.

Maybe, thought Harry, leaving him alone in the old mansion wasn't such a good idea. If Death Eaters did get in the house and captured him, he'd have no backup and no one would realize he was gone for days. Not that it mattered now, but it might be something worth looking into in the morning, assuming that the intruder wasn't a Death Eater, and that Harry managed to win the battle if it was.

With that, Harry came to the open kitchen doorway and, with wand out before him and ready for anything, Harry peered around the door frame, only to catch sight of a slim, female figure topped by the famous Weasley hair pouring the remains of a broken ceramic vase into the trash. Breathing a sigh of relief but not completely dropping his guard, Harry stepped into the brightly lit kitchen.

"Gin?"

Gasping in surprise, Ginny whirled around and had her wand directly pointed at Harry. Harry frowned, knowing that Ginny was rarely caught by surprise these days, and took note of the strain on her face and the tension lining her body. Nonetheless, responding to her reaction, Harry had also brought his wand up to point directly at his friend.

"Harry," said Ginny quietly, not yet dropping her aggressive stance. Harry nodded at her, and asked the obligatory question.

"Who did I rescue you from in your first year?"

"Tom," responded Ginny. "Also known as the Dark Lord. He was possessing me through his diary, which I had been writing in all year. What did we talk about, at Christmas of your fifth year?"

Harry smiled, remembering the moment that really made them friends, that made Harry stop looking at Ginny as Ron's little sister and see that she was as much a friend to him as Ron or Hermione. "You reminded me that I wasn't the only one who had been possessed, and helped me figure out that I wasn't a danger to everyone around me so I would come down and celebrate Christmas."

Ginny half smiled in return at her green-eyed friend, and both lowered their wands. "I woke you up," Ginny said apologetically.

"No, not at all…" Harry was cut off by Ginny's soft, short laugh.

"Harry, It's two am, and you're standing in the kitchen only half dressed in pajama pants. I can see that I woke you up."

Harry looked down at himself, suddenly aware that the scars on his chest and back from his last, bloody encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange were on display, and shrugged self consciously. "No worries. I can sleep in tomorrow if I need to. Besides, it's nice to have the company."

Ginny nodded distractedly, and turned to the counter where she appeared to have poured herself a glass of firewhiskey. Harry frowned again, now certain that something was wrong. Ginny had never been much of a drinker, and the stress showing in her body language and words indicated to Harry that she was most certainly not okay.

"Would you like a glass?" she asked, as she finished the first and poured another.

"No thanks," Harry said, watching her. "What's up, Gin? What brings you to Grimmauld Place at this time of night?"

"It's morning, really," Ginny corrected him, taking another sip.

"Alright then, what bring you here so early in the morning? You don't usually make pit stops like this."

"I just - " Ginny stared into her glass, avoiding Harry's eyes. "I don't know. I guess I just needed to get away."

"From your family?" Harry prompted.

Ginny laughed, albeit bitterly. "Yes, from my family. From my mom's nagging, my dad's worrying, my brothers' over protectiveness. From the painful cheerfulness of the Burrow, from my _colleagues - _" Ginny spat the word as though it left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. "From my duties, from this war, from all this fucking shit!"

Harry, dumbfounded by the outburst, stood quietly while Ginny drew in a shaky breath and said, much more quietly, "I just needed to be _away._"

Harry stood awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. He'd known that Ginny was dealing with a lot of pressure, but she'd always hidden it before and stoically acted as though all was well. He knew that her parents, brothers, Hermione, hell, even Tonks and Shackelbolt, had approached her about the stress she was under and tried to get her to talk about it, but she'd always shrugged them off. Of course, the last year and a half hadn't been easy for anyone, with Dumbledore's death and the rising tide of Death Eaters that were slowly winning as the horcuxes proved more difficult to hunt down than anyone could have expected. But at least in the midst of all that, the rest of the Order had each other to lean on. Since Snape's death at Voldemort's hands, Ginny truly had no one who understood the role she had taken on in this war. For his part, Harry had tried to treat her as he always had – as one of his best friends. His guess, though he'd never confirmed this with her before, was that what Ginny needed most was some semblance of normalcy when she was with her friends and family. To remember who she really was so she could keep her eye on what it was, exactly, that she was fighting for. So he treated her as though little had changed, as though she was still the same Ginny as she had been two years ago, before this nightmare started.

And that, Harry decided, would be how he would approach her now. She needed her friend now, so that's what he would be. So Harry reached forward, rested a hand on her shoulder and said quietly, "Ginny, come on, let's sit down."

But instead of following his guiding arm, Ginny flinched away, nearly spilling the firewhiskey in her glass. "Don't touch me," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because…because…" She seemed to be struggling to say the words caught in her throat, but Harry waited patiently. "Because I'm dirty. Because I don't deserved to be touched by you, not with the things I've done. "

"What had you done, Ginny?" Harry asked gently, subduing the urge to outright deny her statement and end her argument right there.

"I've hurt people, Harry. I've cast unforgivables. I've tortured people. I've killed a couple, even. A little boy, once. He was in so much pain, and I knew they'd keep going, keep torturing him. So when it was my turn, I tortured him and then _begged_ the Dark Lord to allow me to have the honour of killing him, told him that I craved that first kill. I've taunted people with the truth that they would die, and didn't even try to save them. The foulest words have come out of my mouth, Harry, things you wouldn't believe, things _I_ wouldn't have believed two years ago. And…and…and the things I've let them do to me…I can't…I just _can't…"_

Ginny looked ill, and Harry himself couldn't banish the turmoil of his stomach at the idea of what Ginny had experienced since her induction into the ranks of the Death Eaters as an Order spy. She had had a remarkable rise through the ranks of the Death Eaters, and every day seemed to come closer to breaching Voldemort's inner circle, but Harry had never allowed himself to imagine the lengths she must have taken to get there. Having the information passed to him by her own lips was…disquieting, to say the least.

"Are you okay?" The question had slipped through his lips before he really thought through his next words.

"I'm fine," Ginny answered robotically, before grimacing at the obvious lie. Harry shook his head at her and she snapped. "How do you suppose I am, Harry? I've done unforgivable things. I've let the worst of murders touch me in ways I'd only want someone I love to touch me. Not that it resembles anything close to love."

Agitated, Ginny slammed her glass on the counter and stalked to the kitchen table, sitting down in one of the chairs and rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her palms. Seemingly unable to look at Harry, she spoke to the floor.

"It's like I'm not even me anymore. I become a completely different person when I'm with them. I become exactly what they think I am. I'm vicious, cruel, completely full of hate. And then they touch me, and I'm just a thing. They control me, and they use me, and by the end of it all, I feel like I don't even know what it is to be Ginny Weasley, or like I'll never know what it feels like to be loved again.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you this," Ginny half laughed and half sobbed, finally looking up to meet Harry's eyes. "You don't treat me like the others, I guess. They always look at me like I'm about to shatter, but when I talk to you, it's almost like I'm the old Ginny again. Like I'm still your friend, not some breakable figurine. Sometimes, I look at my family and they seem so far away. I know they want the best for me, that they're trying to understand, that they're just worried, but they're so far from me, these days. I can tell, you know, that they don't know how to act around me anymore."

"They love you," Harry said softly.

"I _know _that. But I can't _feel_ it anymore, Harry. I can't feel it. I don't know how to connect with them anymore, when I feel so dirty and used. I don't even know how to return it. I'm losing myself out there, and I don't know how to get myself back."

Harry drew another chair next to her, considering what to do. Her family clearly couldn't help her, and as much as Hermione touted the skills of counselors, he had a feeling that Ginny's problem was a little beyond their usual range of issues. Ginny was breaking down in front of him and she was here for a reason. Clearly, she felt that she could connect better with him than anyone else. Further, Harry reasoned out, she must need that connection pretty badly if she was showing up here at two am and drinking firewhiskey to boot.

So he had to do something. Ginny needed to be reminded of herself and what it was like to love again. Well, alright. Harry could do that. Breathing deeply and hoping desperately that he was doing the right thing, Harry leaned forward and tucked the loose strands of Ginny's hair behind her ears. He traced the outline of her cheek and cupped her face, bringing her eyes to his before dipping in to kiss her lips softly.

Ginny shuddered in his hands, but responded to the kiss, encouraging Harry to continue the innocent touch for several long, drawn out moments. When the two broke away, they rested their foreheads against one another. Harry brought his hand to Ginny's back and stroked her spine, leaving Ginny tingling pleasantly. The black-haired young man then pushed his chair back and stood, taking Ginny's hand and tugging it to indicate that she should follow. She stepped after him as he led her out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into his bedroom.

"Harry," said Ginny, "what are you doing?"

Harry looked at Ginny and met her gaze, looking for any apprehension or sign that she was uncomfortable. Ginny gazed back, meeting his gaze steadily. He stepped forward and took her carefully into her arms, looking into her chocolate eyes the entire time, saying "I'm reminding you, Gin. Of what it means to love and be loved. That you're not dirty, not in my eyes, and that you deserve better."

And when he kissed her for the second time, he knew in the way she melted into him that she was giving her consent. Harry deepened the kiss, using his hands to lovingly trace her body, to teach Ginny what it was to have another person hold you as though there was no one more valuable than she. He moved her slowly to his bed and set her down, pulling away to tug off her shoes and socks. Harry caressed her feet, and Ginny leaned back, enjoying the sensation of having someone taking pains to put her needs first, to love her as she wanted to be loved. Harry worked his way up her body, laying kisses as he went and finally coming to her hips, where he gently pulled up the edges of her shirt. Ginny sat up to allow him to tug the shirt up and over her head. Harry looked at her reverently before leaning in to drag his fingertips along her side. Ginny drew in a breath and then giggled as his touch tickled her. Harry smiled back, raising his hand to push back her red hair from her shoulder and then traced his hand down her left arm. Ginny inhaled sharply as Harry turned her arm over to reveal the starkly black tattoo of the dark mark. Harry looked down at it, face impassive, and brought her arm forward so she could rest her hand at the base of his neck, stunning her as he touched his lips to the offending mark on her forearm. Harry turned his head to meet her face and returned his lips to hers. The thought occurred to Ginny that Death Eaters would never kiss her like that, or for that matter, kiss her at all. This was different, much different.

She rested her head on his shoulder, hiding her face, and found that tears had begun to streak from her eyes. Harry's eyes, looking tenderly down at her, crinkled at the edges in acknowledgement of her tears. He leaned down and, ever so gently, brought turned her face up to his, kissing the tears on her face, moving next to her eyelids and then her temple, drawing her closer with every kiss.

In the morning, when Ginny awoke, she found herself wrapped in Harry's blankets, more content than she had been in well over a year. Rolling over on to her back and stretching out her arms, she quickly realized that Harry was most certainly not in bed with her. In the next moment, she became aware of the distinct smell of breakfast wafting into the room from downstairs. Smiling to herself, Ginny pulled the covers closer and took a deep breath before throwing them aside to stand up and face the day.


End file.
